


Ask The Next Question

by Liviapenn



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Awesome Sam Carter, Community: femslash08, Episode Related, Episode: s06e11 Prometheus, F/F, Femslash, POV Minor Character, POV Outsider, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-14
Updated: 2008-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Thor hadn't shown up to conveniently rescue everybody at the end of 'Prometheus?' Julia Donovan of Inside Access has the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask The Next Question

**Author's Note:**

> Written for triciabyrne1978 for the femslash08 ficathon.

1.

"Actually, I thought you might find this particularly interesting." Julia says, her gaze holding steady on Major Carter's face as she holds up the vial with the little metal sliver inside. "It's a metal alloy called trinium. Supposedly it's being used in connection with Prometheus."

A nice one-two punch. Carter doesn't even flinch, but there's something in her eyes... On the one hand Julia is marveling at her game face, and at the same time, Carter is telling her everything she needs to know.

Most people Julia questions lie easily, unconcerned. They lie like King Canute's courtiers, telling him he was powerful enough to turn back the tide and never expecting him to test it. They lie like Julia's four-year-old niece, who, after creating an impromptu mural in the front hallway of Julia's sister's house in Julia's two favorite shades of MAC Pro Longwear Lipstick (Clingpeach and Payoff) stood there and straight-up blamed the dog. In short, they overestimate their ability to get away with things. _Truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long_ and all that.

People always think they're going to get away with it.

Major Carter is smarter than that; Julia can see it in her eyes. She knew this was coming. Oh, maybe not today, but someday. Whatever Prometheus is, it's too big to keep under wraps for long, and Carter knows it, may even be tired of trying to hold back the tide. She doesn't panic when Julia confronts her. She doesn't even stammer. She looks Julia right in the eye, and they both know-- she's not surprised that someone's trying to call her on the carpet. Inevitability hangs over Carter like a cloud.

"Sure you wouldn't care to comment now?"

"I'm sure," Carter says, and pulls away.

Julia lets her go, for now. They'll be seeing each other again, and sooner rather than later.

She's pretty sure Carter knows it, too. That look in her eye... oh, yeah. They understand each other.

2.

About a million years later, Julia finds herself a free chair on the bridge of the Prometheus and slumps into it. Adrian Conrad's body is a black lump on the floor in her peripheral vision. O'Neill and the big, quiet black guy went to find a tarp. She wonders if they'll space him. Apparently that's what happened to Simmonds. It might not have been an accident. Julia's finding it hard to care.

Here's the situation: they're lost. Lost in space. Twelve hundred light years from Earth, no idea where they are, and no idea how to get back. Sam and Jonas are bending over one of the consoles across the room and muttering to each other in low technobabble Julia can barely make out. It doesn't sound good.

Al Martell, Julia's producer at Inside Access for the last eight years, is dead. He sold her out every way he _could_ sell her out, and then he got himself killed trying to protect her. Julia doesn't know which part makes her more furious or sad. Oh, and she's going to have to break in a new camera crew, because Jones, Reynolds and Sanderson are all probably going to Leavenworth.

That's assuming they get home... Julia pushes that thought away, pressing her fingers against her temples. She can't get distracted. She needs to stay sharp. Jones was babbling earlier, pain and shock loosening her tongue, and mentioned a couple of things-- a Colonel Maybourne, an ancient language, and something about an "off-world operation," which, sweet Christ, just might be exactly what it sounds like. Julia can't afford to let any of that go.

So a part of her keeps repeating the important bits to herself -- our alien friend -- Maybourne -- Simmonds -- Conrad -- off-world op -- language of the ancients -- over and over. And a part of her is just laughing at herself. She's in god damn _space_, she's been sitting shoulder to knee with a walking talking extraterrestrial for the past few hours. This is already the biggest story since... since nothing. Since ever. And she may never get to tell it. But she's still scrabbling for more, more missing pieces, more parts of the puzzle.

Julia never did like being left in the dark.

3.

Half an hour or so go by. Sanderson and Reynolds are locked up; the ship's still under construction but the brig is working fine. Jones has a few broken ribs. She needs medical attention, and fast. There are apparently no hospitals in space.

Oh, and the big guy's name is Murray.

_"Murray?"_

Julia hadn't needed to be introduced to O'Neill-- or to be told that he was the version with two Ls, not one-- but Murray didn't show up anywhere on her pre-interview radar. Julia glances around for help but Jonas just smiles, and Sam is busying herself punching buttons that Julia doesn't _really_ think need her attention at the moment.

"Is that a first name or a last name?" she inquires. Murray just raises an eyebrow. Julia pushes on. "Does it come with a rank, maybe?"

"Yes," Murray says. There's a slight pause, during which everyone is very still. "First."

Behind Julia, Sam makes a sound like a strangled duck, but when Julia glances back, she's completely straight-faced.

"First," Julia repeats, giving Murray a low-grade stink-eye. He bows slightly in her direction, inclining his head as if to honor her excellent grasp of the relevant facts. "Okay then."

"So now that we've all been introduced," O'Neill says, clapping his hands together brightly, "Carter, what have you got?"

"Well--" Sam says, then looks nervous when everyone turns to face her. "Jonas and I managed to--"

Again with the technobabble that Julia doesn't understand, which is galling to say the least-- while other girls were into Barbies, little Julia followed the Apollo program. She could name-drop boosters, modules, orbits and trans-lunar injection burns with the best of them. But out here, she's lost. She does collect a few new vocabulary words, though: naquadria, naquadah, and gate. "Gate" makes everyone turn and look at her. Some are more obvious about it than others.

"Ms. Donovan--" Sam begins, carefully.

"It's a little late to tell me to go sit at the kids' table." If they want her to go stand in the hall while they talk about grown-up stuff, they can damn well drag her, kicking and screaming.

Sam looks to O'Neill, who shrugs. Julia hopes that isn't a "Well, we're just going to kill her anyway" shrug. O'Neill is a real funny guy. Julia has the feeling she wouldn't want to run into him in a dark alley.

"I can get us into orbit easily enough," Sam explains. "We can even land the Prometheus if we can find a spot close enough to the gate. If not, we can make trips in the glider."

Glider, Julia notes.

"Right," O'Neill says. "Jonas... _Murray_, keep an eye on the prisoners. Sam, get us to the planet. When we land, will the airlocks--?"

"We have shields. We should be okay."

"All right." O'Neill nods. "I'll take the glider back through--"

"You might want to take her back with you," Jonas says, tipping his head towards Jones, huddled in on herself over in the corner of the bridge. "I'm pretty sure she's got some broken ribs."

"All righty then," O'Neill says lightly. "Miss Jones and me."

4.

They land. They're actually on an alien planet. The-- windshield, or whatever you call it-- is blanked out, covered by metal plating that slid into place before they began their descent. Maybe it's trinium. Who knows? The Prometheus apparently has some kind of energy shielding, to keep the atmosphere in where it's supposed to be, but Sam wasn't taking any chances.

O'Neill took off in the glider. Jonas and, significant pause... Murray, are keeping an eye on the prisoners. It's dark on the bridge with the lights low and the windshield covered. Sam is leaning back in the captains' chair, head tipped back, hands resting palms-up on her knees; a weirdly meditative posture. Julia has a feeling that Sam would probably be taking a nap over in the corner if it wasn't for the fact that Julia's here, and needs to be watched.

Julia is taking the opportunity to begin her story in her head. Since she's never going to be allowed to write it down, why wait until she's back and can get ahold of a notebook or her laptop? She's going to be telling herself the day's events as a bedtime story for the rest of her life. Might as well start now.

_Twelve hundred light years from Earth..._ She frowns.

"Major?"

"Yes?" Sam says, eyes closed.

"Twelve hundred light years," Julia says. "How much is that in miles?"

Sam smiles, still without opening her eyes. "Well, one light year is eight hundred sixty-five billion, six hundred and ninety-six million miles." She says it like she's giving the price of a gallon of milk at the corner store. Like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"So..."

"So twelve hundred light years," she says, "would be about seven... times ten to the fifteenth power. Miles," she adds helpfully.

"Oh." Julia says. A wave of dizziness washes over her. It's not an adrenaline crash, either. Adrenaline doesn't affect Julia like this. She's sitting down, but she reaches out and steadies herself against a console anyway.

Sam finally turns her head. Julia tries to smile, weakly. Sam bites her lip, then reaches over, hand outstretched, and pats her shoulder-- once, twice. It's criminally awkward. Julia can almost hear the subvocalized 'there, there.' She stares at Sam, honestly stunned that any human person could be that bad at comforting another. Sam looks back helplessly, and Julia asks the next question, more to put Sam out of her misery than for any other reason.

"Who's Colonel Maybourne?"

Sam raises her eyebrows. God, her game face is good. "Who?"

"Mindy said something about a Colonel Maybourne. That this was about a-- a message in an ancient language. Pointing the way to more alien weapons. That's what this was all about. Hijacking the Prometheus to get to the weapons."

"That's yet to be confirmed," Sam says, eyes hard and blank.

"Okay then," Julia says, "let me ask you a hard one. This was a shell game from the beginning. Wasn't it? I mean, Reynolds and the rest, they threw a wrench in the gears. But even before that... I was never going to get the story, was I?"

Carter grimaces. She looks like she's wondering if Julia prefers to punch faces or pull hair, and deciding that she's too tired to really care one way or the other. "The situation had to be contained," she says finally. "Martell promised that after you got the story, he'd reveal your source."

"But I wasn't going to get the story."

"No. We would have destroyed the videotape." Carter confesses. "Any notes or evidence you have at Inside Access has probably been found and erased already."

"How efficient," Julia notes.

They sit in silence for a while. Maybe fifteen minutes or so. Julia thinks about starting up a game of Cliff, Shag, Marry but Sam doesn't seem like the type. Instead she takes the opportunity to keep working on her story, in her head. She doesn't know what Sam's thinking. It could be anything. Finally she scratches the back of her neck, shifting in her seat.

"I want to go outside."

"I... don't think that's such a good idea." Sam's voice is rusty.

Julia grins at her. "I don't think either one of us got where we are today by paying any attention to 'I don't think that's such a good idea.'"

"No," Sam ducks her head, obviously smiling despite herself. "Probably not."

She still looks like she's about to say no, though, so Julia plays her ace. "Besides, I have to pee. Are you a hundred percent sure the plumbing in this thing is up to spec? Because I'd hate to, y'know, christen anything important."

Sam gives her a look. Julia stares back, wide-eyed. "Seriously."

"Okay, then," Sam says, and drags herself stiffly to her feet. She cracks her neck, side to side, and heads out. Julia follows.

5.

Sam is checking in with Jonas over the radio when they hear it, a weird sort of vibrating swooshing noise coming from the direction of the unfinished airlock at the end of the corridor.

"What's that?" Julia moves a little closer to Sam. Sam just looks back at her and grins. "No, seriously--"

Then they get a little closer and Julia recognizes the sound for what it is. It's raining.

There's a real cats and dogs type downpour going on out there, as a matter of fact, and an ice-cold breeze blowing in as Sam pushes the airlock door open. Julia flinches back as a few cold drops spatter her face and hands. Visibility is down to about ten feet out there-- all she can see are shadows, some churned up, grassy mud right next to the hatch, and rain, rain, rain.

"Well?" Sam calls, raising her voice over the wind.

Well, Julia thinks to herself, would a little rain have stopped Marguerite Higgins? Would a little chilly breeze have stopped Ida M. Tarbell?

She starts unbuttoning her blouse.

"What are you doing?" Sam yells.

"I'm not gonna sit here and wait for the Marines in wet clothes, are you kidding?" At least she's wearing her lucky underwear-- nothing too fancy, just a satiny bra from Victoria's Secret and panties with a lace band at the waist, but at least they're both black.

As she kicks off her shoes, Julia bets herself fifty dollars that the Air Force is going to confiscate her clothes once they get back to Nevada. A hundred that they at least take the undies. After all, there's no telling what she could find out there and smuggle back to Earth as evidence of her story. An alien pebble tucked into her shoe, a blade of grass slipped into in the lining of her bra...

She's almost too distracted by the thought of alien flora to notice Carter watching-but-not-watching as she unrolls her knee-high stockings and tucks them into her shoes.

Almost.

Julia smiles to herself, shimmies out of her pants, folds them neatly in thirds, and stands there in bra and panties in front of the pretty Major. Okay, Carter probably has a better six-pack under all that drab camo. But Julia goes to the gym four times a week and overall, she's not too shabby, if she does say so herself.

Sam's cheeks are a little flushed. She's looking everywhere but at Julia as she starts unzipping her BDU jacket.

"You don't have to come out with me," Julia tries.

"I kind of do," Sam says, dropping her jacket on the floor.

Well then. Julia grins, braces herself, and bolts out the door. "Catch me if you can!"

She's soaked to the skin in seconds and there's a weird tingling in the air, fizzing over her skin, giving her goosebumps on top of the goosebumps she's already got. It's been decades since Julia ran around in her skivvies in a thunderstorm but she honestly doesn't remember it feeling like this. Maybe it's because this is an alien planet (an alien planet!) or maybe it's just adrenaline, just because she knows she's on an alien planet... Julia throws her head back and howls at the sky, shrieking even higher as Sam's hand closes on her arm, startling her.

Sam is wearing a sports bra and white bikini-cut panties that might as well be see-through in the rain. Her short hair is spiking up even as the rain tries to flatten it down, and she's got great breasts. Julia doesn't even bother to hide her appreciative gaze as she pushes her hair back out of her face to get a better look.

"Hey!" Sam shouts over the rain, but she's laughing, and she doesn't sound surprised. In the shadow of the first interstellar Terran spaceship, seven (times ten to the fifteenth power) miles from home, Julia grabs Major Carter and pulls her close. Sam slips, her bare feet scrabbling in the mud, and has to grab on to Julia, clinging close. Julia's foot slides out from under her and she almost doesn't catch herself-- they stay upright, but barely, half-wrestling each other for balance on the way back up. Sam's hands are hard but gentle and Julia shudders every time her grip shifts. _This_ is the effect that adrenaline has on her.

Panting, wet, stable again (for the moment, anyway) they stare into each others' faces. Julia is surprised to see, once again, a certain inevitability in Sam's gaze. Julia has knots in her stomach-- it's always tough making the first move-- but Sam doesn't look nervous. She looks like she expected this. Like she's been waiting so long she's moved past panic and denial and anticipation and maybe even imagination-- like she's tired of it all.

Julia honestly doesn't think Sam's been waiting for _her_.

She honestly doesn't care.

The cold rain pounds down on her head, rivers forming and pouring off her elbows, her knees, her chin, her eyelashes, and Julia feels like a raindrop falling down with the speed of a bullet, feels she could chase this cold rain through rocky streams all the way down to the ocean, or all the way back up to the clouds. She leans in and kisses Sam, tasting rainwater in her mouth. Sam kisses her, her hands curled into fists in the small of Julia's back.

What's one more thing she's not going to be allowed to tell, anyway? She'd whisper it in Sam's ear if she thought Sam would be able to hear her over the rain. It's getting heavier, unbelievably, pounding Sam and Julia until they go to their knees. Sam resists when Julia tries to pull her back to lie down in the wet grass-- worried about mud, Julia supposes. She lets Sam pull her back so that they're kneeling together, thigh to thigh, breasts touching. Lips to lips.

She kisses Sam again, under the alien sky.

They'll never be able to do this again. Not on Earth. Julia will be under surveillance for the rest of her life, or at least until the Prometheus goes public. And she's beginning to see that the Prometheus is the least of it, at least as far as secrets go. She won't be safe, not for Sam anyway.

Julia strokes Sam's hair, cups her face, kisses her hard and wet and hot. Sam's probably already figured all that out. It might even be why she's doing this.

That's all right, though. As long as they understand each other. And Julia is beginning to think that they just might.


End file.
